


Trust: It's a faulty Carousel

by Eorendel



Series: These Spies Are Always Chasing (Es Su Onda) [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Action, Awesome Illya, Awesome Napoleon, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Illya, Friendship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hallucinations, Hurt Napoleon, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Napoleon is competent, Tenderness, fluff and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eorendel/pseuds/Eorendel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When you are on a mission you must rely on yourself. You're on your own. Do not think for a moment you are going to be saved. Once you step on enemy territory the only thing that will save you, is yourself." </p>
<p>Napoleon had learned quickly to live by this code – when he was a soldier, when he was a thief, and now when he is a spy. It was more than a novelty when that golden rule was overlooked. Even more surprising is when unexpected things – nice things – happen to him.</p>
<p>Napoleon isn't complaining really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust: It's a faulty Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely [TheVeilwalkerWitch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeilwalkerWitch/) for helping me with the editing of this short story (and probably for the rest of the series as well). Thank you so much, Catwoman! You're the best!

Napoleon couldn't breathe, but air was hardly his biggest problem at the moment. They were closing in on him. They had the upper hand; he was outnumbered.

Illya, Gaby and Napoleon had parted ways twenty five minutes ago. Unfortunately, the side Napoleon needed to explore was full of enemies; more than he had liked to confront alone.  Why the information about the location was wrong would have to be investigated later. Of course, if he got through this alive.

Napoleon _really_ didn't like to kill. He was capable, but he didn't particularly take pleasure in it. Napoleon would rather use his skills for other things than assassination. His moral crisis had to wait though. Even though it was against his principles, if Napoleon was in a situation where his life was on the line, then he was willing to do almost anything to save it.

Besides, Napoleon was never the first one to shoot.

He ran through the incomplete structures along the new building site, dodging bullets by the skin of his teeth. At some point – when Napoleon concluded his escape attempt futile – he decided to hide and take them out. The THRUSH agents had scattered to cover more ground, without doubt to trap him like a rat. So Napoleon’s only option was to make a dent in their numbers. His colt had the suppressor on, and if he didn't miss his shots he would be able to increase the odds of his survival immensely.

Napoleon climbed to the second floor where some crates were going to provide him with considerable cover. He heard footsteps getting closer and he took a deep breath, readying himself for what came next. He didn't like to kill, but he was one of the best at it.

Like the cold calmness of a sniper in the middle of gunfire, Napoleon shot five continuous rounds. The bullets hit their intended targets: head, neck and chest – unfortunately, two misses. The agents that weren't immediately reduced to corpses shot at him in retaliation.

The crates almost became mere splinters. Now that Napoleon had done it, he had to keep going; the noise would surely attract other enemy agents who were nearby. At the exact moment he stepped away from his cover to shot at one of them, a gunshot rang through the silence of the night.

Napoleon bit back a cry of pain and fell on the ground. His arm burned. The gunshots continued. Dread settled deep in his gut. The last agent held his ground, he had a semi-automatic machine gun with enough ammunition to render the crate Napoleon was hiding behind into smithereens in a short amount of time.

Napoleon had one bullet left, and he was running out of time. There was no doubt, he felt hopeless and helpless. The rain of bullets didn't cease, neither did the need to do something.

A calm rippled through his veins then. Some sort of acceptance for what was to come if he failed. Napoleon wasn't a pessimist or a pragmatist like Illya, at least not entirely, but he was ready to do and succeed. Or die trying, rather than leaving his fate to the universe.

The building he was in didn't have any walls, only pillars. Napoleon crouched down as much as he could, and inched towards the edge of the platform. Below, it was a twenty foot drop. Simultaneously, the agent treaded carefully, also getting closer to Napoleon’s position. The man knew he had the upper hand, otherwise Napoleon would be shooting back in retaliation.

At the last moment, Napoleon threw himself over the edge, all the while holding his colt with his last bullet. Napoleon turned in midair, fired as he fell. The bullet pierced the man's chest.

Napoleon tried to reduce momentum as he fell, rolling down over the pile of dirt – tiny rocks scratched his skin, and a stifling cloud of dust engulfed the area – but the impact still rattled his ribcage depriving him of air. He was going to be bruised and sore in the morning.

After that, Napoleon was moving on autopilot. He knew he had to get away from there, he couldn't go forward since there was a great possibility of him bringing unwanted attention to where Illya and Gaby might be. Napoleon could only backtrack his steps.

He didn't ditch his handgun, even without ammunition it was still a means of defense. Napoleon had learned the hard way that sometimes only a bluff could save him from certain death.

He planned on stealing a car and take the the other way, towards the nearest town, when he saw the outline of a shadow approaching around the corner ahead

Napoleon fell back, and took refuge under the belly of a truck. He held his breath as four sets of footsteps got closer. Somehow, the acute sensation of his arm bleeding became worse.

He didn't dwell much on it though. Napoleon had to keep going, he needed one of the cars closer to the gates. Fortunately, the men guarding the perimeter were in disarray; he heard a booming explosion in the distance.

Napoleon wasn't about to say that he wasn't worried about his partners, but he had trust in them. More than he had on himself, even, and that's saying something.

Pulling out from under the truck, Napoleon tried to stick to the shadows as much as he could. He was so close, so close – that it wasn't even surprising when someone snuck behind him.

Tackled from behind, Napoleon was thrown to the ground. They grappled in the mud, it had rained before and everything was slippery and cold. The person he was fighting with obviously had his orders to capture. Vaguely, Napoleon recalled the electric chair and it fueled him with renewed vigor.

The fight wasn't refined or pretty; It was simply a struggle for power, to dominate and win. But as Napoleon liked to think all was fair in love and war – his empty colt came in handy.

He wished he could relish in the moment when his assailant's jaw and teeth shattered at the impact on cold metal. But Napoleon couldn’t stay. Getting up, he tried to wipe as much grime off his bespoke suit before heading towards the first car he saw. He tried to breathe and with single focus he tried to make the car work.

There were things that should have gone through Napoleon's mind at that moment. Like the fact that even though the wound wasn't fatal, it still bled. He wasn't sure for how long he tried to start the engine, but it was time enough for another enemy to appear and haul him out from the driver seat.

Again he found himself fighting bare-handed, but this time he was twice as tired and sore. Napoleon’s energy was draining and he desperately tried to come up with a way to win.

He should be grateful they were going one by one after him – odd as it was. But he couldn't thank the small blessings. Napoleon’s frame smashed the side of the car, he barely avoided his head colliding with the glass. His bruised side protested at the impact.

The next move was to surely throw Napoleon to the ground but it didn't come. Instead, the man who had Napoleon against the car fell like a puppet cut off its strings. Blood oozed from a hole in his temple.

Napoleon couldn't quite reconcile what was happening. And then he saw Illya emerging from the shadows.

He could only think: _Illya is here_.

"You're here." He said, swallowing air and hurt and comfort all at once at that admission. "You're here."

Illya was a whirlwind of movement and intent.

"Inside the car." Illya ordered.

"Gaby—where's Gaby?" Napoleon asked, needing to know, a silly part of his mind assumed she would be with Illya.

Illya didn't waste time to assure Napoleon, he pushed him inside the back seat, where Napoleon all but ungracefully fell onto. Illya got the car moving on the first try.

"She is well. Already gone."

Which meant Illya had stayed to search for Napoleon. At that moment he couldn't appreciate it enough. Napoleon felt the wave of relief a bit too soon, his body shivered and he couldn't get up from the seat, even more so in the way Illya was driving the car.

"Cowboy?" Illya voice drifted in after a while, sounding a bit anxious. It sounded as if he had called him over before.

"Yeah?" Napoleon answered.

"Are you injured?"

The car served on a curb. The sky was black, it started to rain again.

"Yeah, a lot."

"You got shot?"

"Yeah, haven't looked at it, though."

"Why aren't you applying pressure?" Illya sounded exasperated.

"Oh. Right." Napoleon said a bit slowly, doing as told and hissing when he felt his arm throb.

Then he started hearing music. At first, Napoleon thought he must be hallucinating due to the blood loss.

"Talk to me." Illya said.

"You don't like it when I talk to you."

The music was getting louder.

"Yes. It's your opportunity to annoy me."

"I think I'm dying," Napoleon said, half believing it, confused. "I'm hearing carousel music."

"Why would that play as you're dying?" Illya seemed awfully calm about this.

Napoleon racked his brains to find an answer, "It was the last attraction I truly enjoyed when I was a kid. It was the last place I saw her..." He trailed off, mind going to a memory he had already forgotten.

"Her?" Illya pulled over, parked the car. Napoleon watched as Illya got out of the driver’s seat, then came around the back. Without another word, Illya immediately opened the backseat's door, and slipped inside next to Napoleon.

"My aunt. She took care of me. Her name was Elizabeth, an old beauty, truly. She made heads turn left and right."

Illya hummed in response, helping Napoleon sit up.

"She loved Scotch and poker, she taught me many things. She was the one to teach me how to throw a punch." Napoleon eased back against the seat, while Illya ripped his shirt open. "She would have totally slapped you silly that time you suggested that outfit for Gaby."

Napoleon turned his head to Illya, the ghost of a smile hanging on his lips.

"She sounds like a fair lady." Illya commented, hands efficiently cleaning Napoleon's wound and securing it with a clean looking cloth.

"She was." He turned his head and saw where they were parked, "Oh."

There was a circus, and they were parked behind one of the tents. That explained the music.

"We will leave in a few minutes."

"Okay."

Napoleon stared at the place, he could see the carousel and the kids milling in a line to get on.

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know." Napoleon said, "She was gone one day."

Napoleon didn't think much about it anymore. He really didn’t want to.

Illya sat beside him, mindful of Napoleon's arm.

"I'll take you and Gaby to the carousel next time."

Napoleon blinked at him, half confused and completely surprised, "Will you?"

"Yes."

Napoleon nodded, pressing very carefully, almost tentatively, against Illya's side.

"I hold you to that."

They didn't move, or try to say anything else. It was fine, just like this.


End file.
